


Rebirth

by InitialA



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, F/M, Liam Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6469510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InitialA/pseuds/InitialA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Liam's afterlife is... not quite what he expected it to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The light fades behind the little dinghy and despite the feeling of peace in his chest, Liam cannot help but ache from the separation from his brother. Killian is not alive and he is most certainly not well, but he may be well on his way. Emma may be the reason his brother currently resided in the Underworld, but that she chose to make such a journey to retrieve him says more than he initially gave credit for.

Liam may not be entirely satisfied with his brother's chosen mate, but if she makes him happy...

He can find peace in the hereafter, knowing that.

He can find peace while he waits for Killian to join him again.

* * *

It's the damndest thing, this life after death.

Liam captains the ragtag crewmen salvaged from the Underworld. Their vessel is not one he's familiar with, but one of the crew calls her a grab. "My first ship, we did trade between Agrabah and Indus," Simon says. "Grabs were common enough in the Indus river delta and along the coast. Fine vessels, grabs. She'll hold for us, Captain Jones."

And there's a title he never thought he'd hear again.

The grab is swift, but with no clear course or objective, Liam finds the adventure lacking. The navigator shows him maps of coastlines that tickle the oldest part of his memory, three hundred years buried, but the ports are unfamiliar and the kingdoms sounding fantastical. They can't even sail for days on end, searching for adventure or a purpose; instead, they make port every few days to restock on supplies - hunger after death is something unexpected. Perhaps the ancients had it right, burying their dead with supplies to carry with them to the world beyond.

He tries not to think on that much, of all the sailors buried at sea with nothing but a shroud and words to carry them safely to the world beyond.

After several weeks - yes, weeks, because time passes even after death - of aimless wandering, Liam orders the navigator to set course for the nearest port. They'll weigh anchor for several days and he will do his best to suss out a purpose.

Surely if the dead hunger, then those in port still do business. Liam has manned worse than a cargo ship of supplies.

The kingdom they sail for has a name in a language no one on board can read. He finds it odd that his afterlife would purposely be so inconvenient or based on a reality he did not know (the coastlines are indeed similar to the seas he knew in his living days, he's long since concluded the changes must be a reflection of the world that has changed in three hundred years). But when they sail into the fjord and make port in the bustling castle village, the people are as kind and friendly as could be. "Must be the capital," Culver, Liam's first mate, mutters as they go in search of the harbormaster. "Look, cap'n, the castle is as grand as any fine palace in our lands."

With such a mountainous land, Liam supposes there was some strategy when placing it. It's much more difficult to sneak up on a palace with a harbor view, and unprepared armies might die in a mountain siege. "Bloody bizarre," Liam says quietly, glancing up at the monstrosity of wood - yes, a _wooden_ castle, when anyone knows that _proper_ homes of the wealthy are made of stone. "Even in the hereafter we find ways to place ourselves above one another."

"Aye, cap'n."

The irony in that is not lost on him.

Where the written language differences construct barriers, there is none in the spoken; the pub that night is overflowing with the common tongue shared between these lands and smatterings of local and foreign dialects. Liam recognizes some, others he swears he knew once but have warped over time to be almost unrecognizable. _How utterly bizarre_ , he thinks, downing his tankard and receiving a new one almost immediately. The barmaid that provided it has a sultry wink for him and an appealing sway to her hips, but he feels no urgent need for company in his bed tonight.

The afterlife is a strange thing indeed.

"Oh, aye, talk to Greis in the morning," an old sailor tells Liam later. His men have moved to dicing and women, regular activities of sailors on shore leave; Liam chooses to talk to the locals, discover the best places to find their new purpose. "Always on the lookout for another cargo captain. Warehouse district, far end of the docks."

With that information in mind, Liam leaves his crew to their activities and turns in for the night.

* * *

He leaves early, lines up a job for his crew with Greis easily enough - the man knows how to dicker prices, for certain - and as the sun crests the mountains Liam is at a loss as to how to spend his day.

The cargo will take several days to load, plenty of time for shore leave and for his men to scratch whatever itches the land holds for them. But Liam hasn't been one for the land as of late. Not after three hundred years manning a pub, paying penance for lying to his brother and worrying for his safety. No, he needs the wind in his hair and the sway of a deck under his feet, the spray sea salt crisp on his tongue and the cry of gulls in the air. Three hundred years spent landlocked is torment enough for a sailor of any kind, but if Liam is to pass the time until he sees his brother again, he knows he needs to spend that time on the sea.

The land holds no appeal for him.

He wanders. For the next few days he wanders, checking on the loading of cargo and supplies, doing needless tasks like checking the quality of the water barrels and testing the new lengths of rope. He doesn't climb the rigging and check the sails, but it's a near thing.

Liam Jones is _bored_. He's not accustomed to boredom and finds he doesn't care for it.

On the fifth day, when he feels like he might scream from this boredom, there's a quiet sort of commotion in the village square.

" _Anna_."

"Oh, Elsa, relax. It's a flower cart, it'll survive."

"Your Majesty, truly, the princess has done no harm -"

"My apologies, Master Florist, my sister often doesn't know her own strength."

Liam comes close enough to see a small crowd has gathered, gawking at a sheepish-looking young woman straightening flower pots on a florist's cart. The woman with her holds herself rather imperiously, but her eyes and the small frown betray her discomfort with the situation. A small coronet rests in her pale hair, braided up and around her head. "Please, if you find there is any damage, I insist you notify the palace at once for replacements," the blonde woman says, drawing Liam's attention away from the slight way she wrings her hands to her face again.

She's stunning.

"Of course, Your Majesty is gracious," the florist says, bowing slightly; the tips of his ears are pink.

And she's the queen.

The queen seems to notice there's a crowd now and holds up her hands with a nervous smile. "Please, go about your days. My sister and I merely wanted to enjoy the sunshine, we don't meant to disrupt anyone."

The men bow and the women curtsy before obeying. Liam watches with interest as the sisters link arms and begin walking in his direction, easily falling into a soft conversation. He steps to the side so as to allow them a wide berth, but the princess glances his way.

He's absurdly reminded of a hunting dog, the way her focus seems to completely zero in on him. "Hello, you're an unfamiliar face," the princess says, not caring that she's cut off her sister entirely.

Liam blinks, glancing between the royal sisters and realizing with a flush that the queen is also staring intently at him, though her gaze is more cautiously skeptical than the intensely interested one from her sister. _This is absurd_ , he thinks wildly, thinking again of the fact that he is _dead_ and yet there is royalty before him and every bit of decorum drilled into him is screaming because he has yet to formally introduce himself. He bows low at the waist, one arm crossed over his chest. As he straightens, he keeps his gaze lowered out of respect. "Your Majesty, Your Highness. I am Captain Liam Jones. My crew is on shore leave while we restock and take on cargo for delivery."

He sees the queen incline her head in the corner of his vision. "Very well then. Welcome to Arendelle, Captain Jones. We'll leave you to your business."

" _Elsa_ ," the princess hisses. "Don't be rude. Apologies, Captain Jones, my sister takes a while to warm up to people."

"Not all of us were born with the gift of making people love you, Anna," Queen Elsa mutters.

There's a faint blush on the queen's otherwise pale face, one that causes Liam to fight the sudden urge to brush his fingers across her cheeks. Then Princess Anna does the most _un_ princess-like thing Liam has ever seen: she sticks her tongue out. "You just get overwhelmed. We're working on it. Now, Captain Jones, which ship is yours? I haven't come into the village for several days, sometimes I miss the comings and goings."

He blinks; even if he hadn't been preoccupied by the queen, the princess speaks very quickly and it takes a moment for everything to register. "Ah. The _Lady Bartholomew_ is mine. She's a fine grab, if it pleases your ladyship, though smaller than other vessels I have captained."

The sisters trade a look, one that has Liam on edge. "The _Lady Bartholomew_?" Queen Elsa asks slowly.

"Aye. Is there a problem, my lady?" The last thing he needs is some sort of piracy branding in the hereafter - this is the most unusual afterlife, the priests truly got it entirely wrong. He supposes there's no way to alert them of their errors or else the teachings might be different.

Princess Anna smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "The _Lady Bartholomew_ sank, Captain. It's quite the story."

Liam relaxed slightly. "We sail from Misthaven, Your Highness, perhaps you're thinking of an Arendellan ship." Rarely did ships have the same names, but with so many ports and kingdoms, overlap did occasionally happen.

But the queen is shaking her head, her blue eyes both somber and concerned at once. "No, there's only one _Lady Bartholomew_ , Captain Jones. I believe you should come with us."

* * *

Seated at the great table in the hall, Liam learns of the story of the _Lady Bartholomew_. Though the sinking occurred twenty years prior, it's already something of legend. Bound for Agrabah and caught in a perfect storm, a hurricane of proportions one is lucky to see only once in a lifetime, the _Lady Bartholomew_ sank with fifty hands and carrying some of the finest treasures from Camelot. Sailors spoke of magic leaking into the sea from the bewitched treasures and navigated widely around the sites of the sinking; even mermaids dared not enter the wreckage for pillaging.

He wonders if there's something to the legends of the afterlife, if a grand and terrible sinking such as this one gains more traction than others.

"Afterlife?" Princess Anna asks, her brow scrunched up in confusion.

"Aye," Liam says, wondering if she's gone in the head. "It took me nigh on three hundred years before my unfinished business was resolved and the sea of flame allowed me to pass. Surely you know of it - or did you have no regrets in life?"

The sisters trade another look, this one worried. Liam notices with interest that frost flowers bloom on the arms of the queen's chair. She seems to notice when he does, the frost vanishing as quickly as they arrived. "We need Grand Pabbie," the queen declares, the regal bearing from earlier in the marketplace returning. "Find Kristoff, have him bring Grand Pabbie to the palace as soon as he's able."

* * *

Grand Pabbie is a _rock troll_ of all things, and one that does not take kindly to a crew of sailors loudly declaring their confusion at the mere existence of him. Liam orders them to shut it, intensely curious as to what the sisters seem to think is wrong here.

It had taken several hours for the rock troll to be brought to the palace, enough time that Liam could see that he'd said something that deeply disturbed the queen and the princess. They'd invited him to the library to wait while a palace guard gathered his crew. When they spoke to him, it was kindly, but they spent most of it off by themselves, their noses in books and speaking in hushed conversation.

And now a talking, moving rock was waddling between everyone, muttering to himself (itself?) and tossing glittering powder at Liam and his crew.

"Interesting," Grand Pabbie says at length.

"What is?" Liam asks at the same time the princess does.

"These men _were_ dead," the troll declares. "And yet the Lord of the Underworld has seen it fit to restore them to the land of the living."

Liam finds it hard to breathe. He looks at his men, all of them wearing similarly stunned expressions; he then glances at the sisters. The queen catches his gaze and he feels as if she's studying him, taking in everything to figure out the explanation before anyone can answer first.

It's Simon who speaks. "Lord Hades didn't want us to leave. Why would we be restored?"

"He didn't do it though," Culver argues. "It were the fire pit, the one that spat the captain back out acos he was too tough for it."

Liam notes the queen's expression changing to a less intense curiosity and finds himself blushing. "Hardly," he mutters. He'd just forgiven himself, allowing himself to believe that a selfless sacrifice for his brother's sake would be enough to relieve the burden of his sins. The fires couldn't take someone who had been absolved.

"Reincarnation is hardly unheard of," Grand Pabbie says. "Though I must say this is the first time I've seen mortals be returned in the state they were when they last lived."

_Alive._

"So the ship," Culver says. "It were returned to the surface for our purpose?"

"It seems to be that way."

They're _alive_.

"A ghost ship for a ghost crew," Hagred says with a shaky laugh.

Liam needs air. The library is stifling and stuffy and he can't breathe. He mutters an excuse and turns on his heel, stalking out the grand doors and down the hallway, hoping to find some sort of escape.

* * *

The queen finds him sulking next to a duck pond.

"Are you alright, captain?" she asks softly. He doesn't hear her sit.

He doesn't know. He's sat here for the better part of an hour, trying to wrap his head around it all. He's _alive_. The portal didn't send him to an afterlife, it sent him to _life_.

He can't find it in him to complain, but by all the gods _why_?

Killian. Could he see Killian again? Could Liam make further amends with him and the new family he's chosen?

Gods, was he even _alive_ again? He didn't know, _couldn't_ know, how Killian and Emma and their family had fared against Hades. If they'd managed to work around his colossal interference, if they'd succeeded.

If Liam had instead doomed his brother and everyone Killian loved to the Underworld for eternity.

How could he be restored to life if that were the case?

"I don't know," he says hoarsely.

There's a rustle of fabric and he imagines the queen has taken a seat on the grass behind him. "I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you," she says.

No, he supposes not. He doesn't know of anyone who has done this, there are no stories of similar tales. "Aye, not many have been dead for three centuries and then on a seeming whim get restored to life," he says, sounding more bitter than he'd intended.

He hears her suck in a breath. "I'm sorry, I've intruded," Queen Elsa says. He hears the fabric of her dress rustle again. "I'll leave you to your thoughts. Please know that you're welcome to dinner if you feel up to it, or the kitchen has orders to give you anything should you desire food later."

She's leaving and he doesn't want to be alone. "Wait," he says softly, turning his head.

The sunlight catches her hair at the right angle, turning it silver. It makes her green and black gown look demure in comparison. She turns her head, waiting for him to speak again. Her profile is striking, classically lovely and it makes his chest tighten. "I'm sorry, your majesty, I didn't mean to imply your presence was unwelcome," Liam says softly. "I'm just... I'm very unused to kind company."

She smiles and it softens her. She turns and comes to sit next to him. "You're in luck," she says, tucking her arms around her bent knees. "I'm not used to any company at all. We can be terrible company to one another."

That makes him laugh and she grins in response; her nose scrunches up rather adorably and she seems to realize it, one hand flying up to cover her mouth and nose as she giggles. Liam can't help himself, forgetting for a moment that she's royalty and he's a newly-restored-to-life common sailor: he reaches out and takes her hand, pulling it away from her mouth. "Pardon my forwardness, but you're quite beautiful when you smile. It seems a shame to cover it up."

Her hand lingers in his for a moment as her smile falls away quickly in shock. She blinks once, then twice, her mouth moving like she wants to say something but the words don't come. Liam can't help but smile at how flustered she gets, his thumb running almost unconsciously along her fingers.

Her very cool fingers.

He glances down and as with her chair earlier in the day, he notices that there appears to be frost growing along the skin of his hand. It's cool, but not unpleasantly so. "You have ice magic," he says softly, and his words seem to snap her out of whatever reverie she'd gone into.

She yanks her hand back and he's interested to note that it's starting to snow around her. Her hands wring together in her lap. "I'm sorry, I normally have better control over it," the queen says, words spilling out of her much more quickly than he's heard her speak before. "It gets out of control when I'm under stress or something upsets me or -"

Liam sits back, putting space between them. "My apologies, your majesty. I didn't mean to upset you."

Her gaze flies back to his, worry marring her features. "No! That is, I mean to say no, you didn't - not in that way - Oh, bother, Anna is much better at this than I am." She huffs and it's endearing, even as the snowfall increases enough that the blades of grass are starting to be coated in the stuff. "I'm not - I'm not angry, captain. I may be a little frightened, but most men - most _people_ \- don't dare to be so forward with me. This sort of attention isn't something I'm used to, so you'll forgive me for not knowing how to react."

He inclines his head. _It's a shame that no one has paid court to her before_ , he thinks, _for she's truly too lovely to behold_. "No apologies needed, your majesty. We were all of us blushing, fumbling newborns at this sort of thing once."

Her ears have turned red and the snow falls even heavier now. "That may be true, but it feels as if a queen should be more dignified in receiving compliments."

"Probably true," Liam agrees, and she glances at him abruptly. He grins to let her know he's teasing. "Has no one told you you're beautiful before?"

"In passing. 'Oh, Your Majesty is as kind as she is beautiful', that sort of nonsense," the queen says and in a lesser woman he would have called her tone annoyed. "I can't let that sort of talk go to my head. And as my sister is married, the line of succession isn't in jeopardy, so my council doesn't feel the need to press any sort of suitors on me."

An interesting detail to let slip, but Liam doesn't comment on it. Instead, he holds out his hand. Queen Elsa stares at it for a long moment, as if it were a serpent that might strike at any moment. She glances up at him warily, and he only smiles. Gingerly, she slips her hand into his; it's still cool to the touch, and even cooler against his lips as he brings her hand up to press a kiss to her knuckles. "Then I may take honor in being the first to compliment you sincerely, your majesty," he says softly.

He holds her gaze and her hand until the snowfall lessens, eventually disappearing altogether save for the light cover of snow on the grass. "I'm sorry," Queen Elsa says finally. "I came to offer you comfort and instead you're forced to comfort me."

Liam smiles and it feels lighter somehow. "Actually, you did help," he admits. "I would have stayed out here brooding well into the night. You provided a welcome distraction from what would most certainly have been an increasingly unhappy thought process."

"I'm sorry I can't offer more help."

"I daresay I'll find a way to resume a life," Liam says. "Truthfully, knowing this makes so many other occurrences of late make sense. For a while I believed a lot of things were some sort of cruel trick. It didn't make sense that I should be hungry while dead, for one thing."

The queen looks down as she smiles this time, but she glances back up when he squeezes her hand. "There's that smile again," he says softly. "You don't have to be shy about hiding it."

"As Anna is fond of saying, we're working on it," she admits.

"You're very lucky to have a sister who cares for you so much," he says, thinking of Killian and hoping he still carries his brother's good favor.

"After everything we've been through... yes, I know," the queen says softly. This time, it's she who squeezes his hand first. "Well, the offer for dinner still stands. It's the least we can offer after tossing such a thorough upheaval into your life - or afterlife, rather."

Liam chuckles. "I happily accept, your majesty, thank you."

"Elsa, please," she says. "I hate formalities with friends."

He glances at her sharply and there's a softness in the way she's looking at him. Liam smiles. "Aye, Elsa then. And I must insist you drop the 'captain', then."

"Liam."

They shake on it with the hands they're already holding and he fights the urge to kiss her fingers again. He's pushed her limits far enough as it is and she's been kind in return. Instead, he gets to his feet with a grunt and helps her to stand, managing not to haul her flush against him despite his better judgement. She shakes out the snow from her skirts and he offers his arm with a short bow - he's a gentleman, after all, and a queen deserves a proper escort to her own dining room. Elsa takes his arm after a short curtsy and allows him to steer her back into the palace.

Until he draws up short.

"Erm," Liam says, glancing left and right. "Apologies, but which way -"

Elsa starts to giggle, pointing to the left while leaving her unabashed grin and her scrunched nose on full display. "This way."

Still arm-in-arm, she takes the lead and Liam falls in step next to her, wondering just how much trouble he's about to find himself with this woman.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is a ‘when I have time and an idea’ piece, so while there will be more parts, just please be patient with it.

The _Lady Bartholomew_ cuts a swift path through the fjord, returning home after a month-long trade run to a small port in Misthaven. Liam stands at the prow, one hand casually looped around one of the lines, scanning the harbor for their berth. And possibly a welcome party.

_Home_.

It’s a strange thing, to have been dead and reborn anew, and now finding oneself a resident of a rival kingdom. Nevermind that Arendelle as Liam knows it now was a different kingdom entirely in his youth, but the old naval officer in him still bristles at the idea of turning his back on his former home and king.

Even if that king _was_ indirectly responsible for his death.

It’s stranger still that he considers the land home, not the belly of a ship. He’d been landlocked for three hundred years, believed himself to need being at sea to be content in this new life. But he _likes_ Arendelle and that is what brings him to call it home. A relatively new kingdom, her royal family only traces back four or five generations. Her people upheld an isolationist policy with all but the most local of her neighbors until just a few years ago. It’s a small kingdom, quiet and quaint, with rich culture and kind inhabitants.

“Ahoy, the _Lady Bartholomew_!”

Liam grins, then waves to the woman hailing them from the harbor mouth. _Quiet_ was not a word he would apply to Arendelle’s princess, a most formidable young woman he’s come to consider a good friend. Quaint, yes, and perhaps _unreserved_.

No, where Anna is _quaint_ , he attributes the _quiet_  aspect of Arendelle her queen.

Anna manages to meet the grab and her crew not long after docking. The man Liam is signed to, Greis, oversees the unloading of every trade run, which leaves Liam to release his crew to their well-earned shore leave. Most of his men have found little reason to complain for their new home port; those who did complain mostly came from a lack of companionship in port, or sharing close quarters with fellow sailors. But that’s their business, or lack thereof.

Anna greets Liam with a hug. “Oh, you were gone for ages!” she exclaims when she steps back. “She’s been moping, even if she does send me away when I point it out.”

There could only be one _she_.

Liam follows Anna back to the palace at a leisurely pace, slowly readjusting to walking without counting the sea into his steps. Anna chatters on excitedly about this plan and that goings-on, things he’s missed in the last month; though he’s only in port but once or twice a month, he’s grown used to the princess’ exuberance. It’s always amusing to him how different Anna and her sister are, though even with their differences, it’s obvious to anyone with eyes how close they are. They seem to share a secret, silent language between them, and to watch them play off of one another often reminds him of Killian and how close they once were.

It’s been several months since his return from the dead, and he has no idea if Killian has been granted the same fate. He often wonders it, but Liam normally comes to the conclusion that he’ll never know for sure. The realm the Underworld had been remodeled after was nothing like the world it once resembled -- something once quite like Misthaven or any of the other kingdoms Liam had grown up knowing.

No, if Killian had returned to the living, then likely he had gone back with Emma, to whatever strange land she hailed from.

And Liam will have to be content with that.

* * *

 

The path through the palace gates and into the palace proper is now a familiar one. Elsa’s gift to him of palace quarters had been met by protests, but she’d put her foot down; something about going to drop a book to the house he’d lodged in and finding it absolutely appalling. And Liam was not in the habit of arguing with queens.

At least about particular matters like living quarters.

Anna leads him to the library, where they find Elsa with several members of her council, debating old pieces of parchment and several dozen books laid out across two long tables. She doesn’t notice them with her back to them, but as Anna ducks back among the bookshelves, Liam takes a moment to admire Her Majesty.

She’s as lovely as he remembers, her hair braided and coiled into an elegant knot. She’s dressed in blue today, her ice gown that he particularly favors due to the manner in which it highlights her figure. Her voice is clear and calm, but Liam knows her well enough by now -- her frequent use of words with no less than seven syllables betrays how irate she is about the subject at hand. He hears Anna giggle somewhere behind him when Elsa drops a ten-syllable word onto the Lord Chamberlain -- Anna knows her sister as well. “Come on, they’re arguing about the anniversary celebration,” she whispers. She tugs on Liam’s arm. “Let her get it all off her chest now and you can say hello later.”

They slip out of the library and head towards Liam’s rooms. “I’m sure you want a bath, I’ll send someone up with hot water,” Anna says. This is not unusual either; though, as Liam understands it, the palace is slowly returning to a fuller staff than it had been during his hosts’ youth, Anna has taken over large portions of running the household itself and scoffs every time Liam mentions the impropriety of it all. “I made sure your leave-behind things were cleaned and pressed so you’ll have something to wear for dinner, and Greis knows to send your cabin trunk to the palace. I’ll have a footman bring it up, but the maids will undoubtedly want to fuss over your seams after your clothes are washed up. Honestly, it’s like they’ve never sewn a working man’s clothes before.”

Anna punctuates that with a dramatic sigh and Liam holds his tongue. Likely the maids _haven’t_ ever worked on clothes for the likes of him, or at least not in a very long time. But Anna wouldn’t know of things like the training of servants, particularly those for the noble houses. Princesses and serving girls grow up in very different worlds.

As Anna leaves him to change out of his working clothes and wait for his bath, he casts an uneasy eye on the quiet luxury of his quarters.

There’s a stark difference in their worlds, too. Part of the reason Liam had fussed over the small suite of rooms he now occupied was that it’s such a far cry from the damp hammock he’d shared with Killian as a lad. He’d had -- _they’d_ had -- nothing, scraping and saving for years to buy their freedom. They’d had nothing when they’d bought their way into a naval commission for the price of a priceless jewel. And now, Liam had been reborn with nothing but a ghost ship and a crew to man her.

He feels guilty for having done nothing to earn this.

He often feels guilty for the luxury of a warm roof over his head, expensive glass windows, and a soft feather bed, when his crew settles for drafty rooms over loud taverns and mattresses stuffed with straw. There’s a bellpull in every room of his suite that leads directly to the servant’s hall, summoning someone as quickly as they can manage should he need anything.

He tries not to use the bellpulls. He’s been a servant -- a slave -- though not in a great house. He remembers every uncomfortable task, every slap, strike, and touch of the whip for disobedience or tardiness.

Liam enjoys the company that the palace of Arendelle provides, the friendship of Anna and her husband, and he dearly treasures his friendship with Elsa. But he knows that if he stays for longer than a week, the opulence would drive him mad.

It’s why he risks making Elsa sad every time he leaves on a job for Greis.

It’s why he can never tell her of the quiet affection he has for her. She’ll ask him to stay, and while he may consider Arendelle his home now, Liam doesn’t know if he can ever feel comfortable here in the palace, a pauper masquerading as a prince.

* * *

 

Liam’s almost late for dinner, having dozed off in the steaming hot bath and dressing so quickly he’s not sure if he’s even wearing all of the proper attire. But his worry melts when Elsa looks up from her place at the head of the table and smiles. He doesn’t even have a chance to bow before she’s pushed herself away from the table and hurried over to him, hugging him without preamble. Liam’s reaction is almost automatic, his arms wrapping around her and holding her tight. “Anna never said you were home!”

“We just sailed in this afternoon,Your Majesty,” Liam says. “The princess met our ship in the harbor and escorted me back. You were in council, so I decided to freshen up before dinner.”

Elsa steps back and gives him a slightly reproachful look for his use of titles, but Liam quickly glances towards the few council members joining the royal family for dinner; there are also several men he doesn’t recognize. Elsa had insisted he drop her titles very early into their friendship, but he keeps them around the company of others.

She seems to understand when she sees him look, and a faint blush appears on her cheeks. “Of course,” she says. “Well, have a seat, Captain, we’ll make introductions and start the first course.”

He longs for a quiet dinner, just him and the royal family, but he makes it through the introductions fine and is content to listen while Anna manages the flow of conversation. The newcomers are apparently a band of Merry Men, whatever that means, separated from their fellows when a portal had malfunctioned. “A portal?” Elsa asks, tilting her head.

“Yes, milady,” one of the men says. “A magic door, as it were, supposed to drop us in Sherwood Forest some months back, but we’ve been lost and looking ever since. Not a bad life, plenty of greedy nobles everywhere looking to share their --”

The man is elbowed into silence by his friend, but Liam suspects Anna and Elsa didn’t hear the thief’s admission. They’re having one of their silent conversations, their attention immediately caught by the words ‘magic door’.

The meat course is served in the middle of this silent debate between the sisters, startling them out of it. “Gentlemen, we should be able to help you find your way back to this Sherwood Forest,” Anna says as the serving plates go around. “We have excellent maps now, though it might take some time to find the right one and have it copied for you.”

This news is met with great cheer and Liam catches Elsa’s eye with a smile. It’s a bit concerning to see that hers doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but he lets it go. She doesn’t like hiding what bothers her, he’ll discover it sooner rather than later.

* * *

 

He’s stuffed from dinner and tired from the long journey, but he joins the royal family for post-dinner drinks in their parlor. Their guests have declined, which makes Liam breathe easier. At first he wonders at his friends’ silence, but when the last footman leaves them and closes the door behind him, Anna bursts out, “That sounds like how we came home from Storybrooke. And didn’t Robin have a group of friends he called the Merry Men? Are they the same people?”

“Oh good, it wasn’t just me thinking that,” Kristoff says. “I mean, how many magic doors or Merry Men can there be? How many guys want to be called merry?”

Elsa shrugs, holding her goblet in both hands. “If the sorcerer or sorceress is powerful enough, I suppose there can be as many magic doors as they can cast. I can’t speak for the thieves, though.”

“Oh you _did_ catch that,” Kristoff comments.

“The Dark One couldn’t cast a portal, remember? It’s why he needed the magic hat box -- and the curse, or that’s how Emma explained it,” Anna says.

“Perhaps the Dark One’s less powerful than he believes. Or he’s just stupid. I’m willing to believe either after he locked me in that vault for being ‘dangerous magic even he couldn’t understand’.”

Liam’s caught on a few words, though. “Wait, just a moment,” he says, gesturing. “Storybrooke? You’ve _been_ to Storybrooke?”

Elsa and Anna look at him curiously. “Yes,” Elsa says slowly. “It’s a bit of a long story --”

“-- seriously long,” Anna adds.

Elsa side-eyes her. “But yes, we’ve been there,” she tells Liam. “It’s a very odd place, but the people are good -- they’re royals from Misthaven, actually, a very large number of them. They were cursed there a long time ago. Why? Have you been?”

Liam shakes his head. “No, but -- Emma, you said? Is she blond, looks quite like you actually, Elsa? Bit of a temper?”

As soon as he starts to describe her, Elsa smiles so wide he fears she might hurt herself. “You know Emma!”

“Elsa called her prickly,” Anna says, “but I guess ‘a bit of a temper’ works too.”

Liam nods. “Yes, I suppose prickly is a rather adept description as well. Yes, I met her in the Underworld.”

“Oh, gods --”

“No,” he says quickly, pained at the horrified look on Elsa’s face. “No, not like -- she was there to rescue my brother. If you know Emma, you must know him, Killian Jones?”

Elsa looks as if she might want to down her entire goblet of sherry before they talk any further, though Anna could probably do with a pick-me-up as well. Kristoff seems less fazed by the news. Liam gets up and refills everyone’s cups, then sits to explain.

It starts to snow in the parlor when he mentions his initial disapproval of Emma. His heart sinks as he explains his betrayal and he can’t meet anyone in the eye as he finishes his tale; he hadn’t told them the full story of his rebirth before, still slightly ashamed of his behavior and unsure whether or not these people would care about the details.

It seems they care very much.

When he gathers the courage to look up, he can see the struggle on Anna’s face. She’s torn between anger and pity and sorrow. Elsa’s resting her head in her hands, the snow mostly centered around her. “It’s been months,” she says quietly. “And I doubt we’ll ever find out, but... Liam, you’re the only person Grand Pabbie’s ever heard of to be restored to the same state you were when you were last alive. Reincarnation is rare as it is, so if Killian even could be reincarnated... Oh, Emma, she must be heartbroken.”

“She seemed to be set on a particular plan, something about splitting her heart,” Liam says, hating that he’s caused her so much distress.

“It’s been _months_ ,” Elsa says again. “Even if she’s not still down there, how long before they could escape with his soul? If his body was unpreserved --”

The thought makes Liam’s stomach turn over.

He may have doomed his brother after all.

“We could ask,” Anna says quietly. “The Merry Men, when we give them the maps. We could ask them if Emma came home with Killian or not.”

“Or they could have no idea who we’re talking about.”

“Kristoff! She’s their _princess_ \-- the Savior!”

Princess? Liam’s heart sinks further, thinking of what he’d said to her -- he stood by it still, that his little brother had always struggled to remain on the right path, but --

If he’d known Emma was royalty, would have have spoken differently?

He’s not sure. Princesses and servants come from very different worlds, and sometimes a firm reminder of the reality outside of the glittering world of the nobility is a necessity that they don’t often get.

It takes some time for Anna to calm Elsa down enough to stop the snow, but by that point Liam’s exhausted and he can see even Anna’s cheery nature begin to slip into weariness. Kristoff escorts his wife out to their suite, leaving Liam to offer his arm to Elsa. “I’m sorry,” he says as he walks her to her rooms.

“No, you didn’t know,” she says, sounding every bit as tired as he felt. “And I’m glad -- I’m glad I know now. And I’m glad she’s realized how much she cares for him. I know you said you don’t approve, but -- Oh, Liam, you should have seen her -- wearing the _strangest_ gown I’ve ever seen, so much of her legs on display -- but she looked so  _happy_. He paid her proper court, flowers and escorting her out. A bit more unsupervised than I expected for a pirate paying court to a crown princess,” Elsa adds, “though David did his best in that regard. She turned him down, I think she’s used to taking care of herself. But even if you don’t approve, they do make one another happy.”

There was a very strong part of Liam arguing in favor of kicking himself. The _Crown Princess_ , gods. What on Earth has Killian gotten himself into? “She’s still the reason he died,” he says, feeling mulish with the point.

“I’m sure there’s more to the story than that. The truth is always less black and white than we’d like.” Elsa stops him in front of the entrance to her rooms. She smiles, a bit sad. “Still, thank you for telling me. And I’m glad you’re home.”

She rises up on the tips of her toes and presses a kiss to his cheek. Elsa smiles a little more brightly now, though, and whispers _goodnight_ as she closes herself into her rooms.

He makes it back to his suite in a bit of a daze. He undresses and climbs into bed, exhaustion pulling at his bones, but sleep comes with difficulty. His mind is racing too much, so many questions and warring feelings left unanswered.

**Author's Note:**

> I might continue this one day, but this is just something that's been running around my brain for a few weeks and I finally got the details sorted.


End file.
